Author's Note: I present to you...chapter two! Reviews and encouragements are welcomed, flames are not.
The popping flames of the fire could not dissipate the numbing chill that penetrated Thranduil. "Ai, Valar, what have I done?" he moaned, sinking onto the feather bed in the prince's room. The sight of his son's dejected countenance as he left extinguished the king's stoked wrath and pride. How could I let my anger get the best of me?
Absentmindedly, the elf toyed with a dark blue tassle that hung from the sky blue quilt. His ire was the one attribute that continuously landed him in trouble. Like having a child, his temper had it benefits, especially when it came to running a kingdom. Nevertheless, even the best child caused mischief and turmoil. Dragging a hand over his face, Thranduil wondered,"Children and conniption are so fickle. How does one handle them?"
His gaze swept the majestic, yet simply adorned, room until it landed on a picture that hung above Legolas' desk in the left-hand corner. Thranduil smiled at it. The portrait depicted a family of elves, his family. It was one of the last paintings of the royal family before that fateful orc attack many years ago on this day. The king's eyes blurred when they rested on his queen and love, Aurilian. She looked vivacious as she sat between him and Legolas and held their hands. Her knee-length silvery, flaxen hair was draped elegantly over her shoulders. The lavender dress she wore had been Thranduil's favorite as it accentuated her emerald eyes. To him, her whole being reflected light and love. Upon closer examination, Thranduil realized just how happy and lively they all looked, particularly Legolas.
The king sighed heavily. Aurilian and Legolas had adored each other. When the queen died everyone worried Thranduil would fade from grief. In reality, it was Legolas who had almost been lost to sorrow. The two were so close. Aurilian always understood their son in a way Thranduil never would. Where he could not respond in the right way to the prince, she could. Aurilian loved Legolas, while he as king had to split his love between his family and the kingdom.
It was at times like this when he and Legolas were at an impasse that Thranduil wished he had Aurilian's wisdom and patience. Valar, he missed his wife so much it physically hurt. Is this how my son feels? Until their fight, the king had almost forgotten just how hard the day of her passing was for the younger elf. Reflecting back, Thranduil remembered that Legolas habitually went on patrol on the anniversary of Aurilian's death, and according to the reports his son always slew a great number of orcs or spiders. "I took him away from that today," whispered the elf. I made him stay here in the castle where he would be assaulted with reminders of her. How much pain has my thoughtlessness caused?
The dancing sun rays on the smooth stone wall snared Thranduil's attention. Twisting his head towards the window, the king's stomach sunk. There were only a few remaining hours of daylight left. Like Legolas, he also had his traditions on this day. A small memorial was erected at the site where Aurilian was slain. It consisted of a small blossom tree surrounded by elanor flowers. A beacon of light in the forest's darkness. Every year, the king snuck out of the castle to visit the place alone. There he would spend a time of silence, and then pour out his heart and grief as if his wife were beside him. Finally, he would blow a kiss to the wind and leave. As the elf could tell, no one knew of his visits.
Thranduil needed to depart now if he wanted to reach the memorial and have enough time to stay. A small voice in his head whispered that he needed to find his son. Yet, he refused to miss his ritual, which making amends would result in. "I will ask Legolas forgiveness when I return," the king promised himself. With that decided, the elf hurried out of the room.
A figure stood in the shadows of a window, and silently observed the king leap into a tree and disappear into the forest. Most of the castle's occupants would be alarmed if they noticed their king leave without a guard, but the elf was not worried. He had witnessed Thranduil do this many times before.
In fact, he himself usually followed the king into the shadows of the forest. Taking great care to remain unseen, the elf would trail the king to the site where the queen had fallen. There he would hold vigil over the mourning elf. Thranduil had no knowledge of the elf's actions, and that is how the watcher wished it.
Something kept him from pursuing the king today, as he had done since he had found out about it twenty years ago. His heart still throbbed from the heated words exchanged only a half an hour ago. Leaning against the sill, Legolas questioned, "How can Adar not understand me? Is this rite of sorrow so different than me releasing my emotions through warfare? I have seen how he grieves for her."
And the young elf had. Several times the sight of his father weeping on his knees had almost persuaded Legolas to emerge from the cover of the trees and comfort the prone form. Yet, if Thranduil had wanted companionship he would have sought it long before, so the prince always remained hidden, watching. It did not mean though he would leave his father alone with his pain. The watcher knew from experience that the grief was too great to carry by oneself. While the king thought he was alone, his son was there to guard and keep him from evil and despair. Supporting his father was what his naneth would have wanted. That was the reason Legolas always came home early from patrol on this anniversary. If he could not make it home, then he would slip away and travel to the site, so that he was waiting when Thranduil arrived. No matter what, he never failed to be there.
Unfortunately, the argument threatened to change the touching routine. Why should I go? He told me himself to stay out of his way! Frustration and pain battled with his heart. A small sense of uneasiness gnawed at him. Legolas slammed his fist against the wall. "He does not know. Even if he did, he would not care!" uttered the prince bitterly. There were better uses of his time. "I would prefer spending three hours on the archery practice field than overseeing Adar." With a groan, the prince buried his head in his hands. What should I do?
After a few moments of uncertainty, the elf raised his bowed head. His eyes glinted with decidedness as he looked out towards the woods one last time. With a shake of his head, Legolas turned and strode away from the window.
The wind whipped Thranduil's golden hair. Tiny white blossoms from the tree showered him. Tears coursed down his cheeks. This was the one place he felt he could release his emotion unashamedly. Here, he did not have to be strong and put on a face for anyone. The elf could let his heart of stone melt without feeling like he was showing weakness. He could simply be Thranduil as he had been with his wife.
The king choked back a sob when he recalled how Aurilian would constantly urge him to be himself, to not worry what everyone else thought. Since her death, the king realized just how far he had slipped into someone he was not. It was time for that to change. Thranduil knelt on the ground and fingered an elanor. "Forgive me, Aurilian. I have forgotten to be myself. I will not make the mistake again. This I swear," he pledged softly.
The sun glowed a deep orange as it slowly descended in the sky. Nightfall was coming soon. Tugging the brown cloak he wore tighter around his shoulders, the elf rose from the ground. He released a gentle kiss to the wind. With a final glance at the memorial, Thranduil slipped into the treeline. Instead of hopping into a tree, he remained on foot. My heart is too heavy to bound through the trees on this eve.
So absorbed was Thranduil in his thoughts that he did not notice the ominous change around him. The darkness grew thicker and the shadows more sinister even though there was still an hour of daylight left. All noise and chatter ceased as the wind whistled eerily. A sense of apprehension hung heavily in the air.
A crashing sound snapped the king out of his reverie. His warrior instincts, well honed from centuries of fighting, screamed danger. A revolting stench wafted towards him. "Yrch!" spat Thranduil. Hastily, he calculated their proximity by their clamor and smell. His stomach plummeted. The orcs were only a few minutes away. Peering into the dimness, his sharp eyes spotted their ugly, looming forms.
Suddenly, a bone chilling roar echoed through the forest. "I smell a rotten elf! He's close too. Hunt him down boys! There will be game tonight!" snarled the leader of the orc pack.
A chorus of shrieks burned in the elf's ears as he raced through the forest. Brambles and branches tore at him. Gnarled roots seemed to reach out in an attempt to trip the king. Looking around, he comprehended with horror that the orc's presence caused the trees to withdraw into themselves. There would be little help from them, even if he could spare the time to climb into one. A glance behind the elf confirmed that the orcs were gaining on him. What possessed me to travel this part of the forest on foot? He did not wish to think about his fate, or Mirkwood's, if these foul creatures captured him alive.
Thranduil's pounding heart almost stopped at the sight before him. A group of orcs barreled through the foliage towards the elf. Panic hitched in his throat as a quick glance of his surroundings revealed orcs on all sides. I am trapped! There was no escape.
Recognizing that their prey was caught, the heinous creatures crept towards him. They smiled twistedly as the elven scum backed away at their every step. Though he was dressed as one of the dreaded elven archers, he wore no bow or set of knives. Good, their catch would be easy to take down. He was utterly alone and doomed.
The king jumped slightly when his back pressed against the trunk of a young oak. Being a wood elf, he sought a connection with it. To his surprise, Thranduil found it had not totally closed itself to the presence of darkness. It was aware, but it shook with fear. His elven ears detected its faint, whispered cries. I cannot enlist its help for it is too frightened. Climbing it would do no good because he had spotted an orc armed with a bow earlier. He could do nothing, except fight.
The knowledge and abilities from his days of warfare came flooding back to Thranduil. Counting his enemies, he found them to be around thirty-five in number. The king's fingers unsheathed his only weapons, a knife and a small throwing dagger. Valar be with me in this fight. The odds are against me.
A large, grotesque orc emerged from the group. His scimitar was crusted with blood. The way the others went silent indicated he was in charge. "Ha! The arrogant maggot thinks it can fight us! Elves are so pathetic! We'll show him! Won't we, boys? Get him!" barked the leader.
The first row of black beasts charge d at the king. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. Only ten feet separated him and the orcs. Thranduil's gut twisted with fear and anticipation. Is this how Aurilian felt when the orcs came for her? Five feet remained. What will my son think when he hears both of his parents are dead by the hands of these monstrous creatures? Three feet left. It will kill Legolas. Two feet until the blades rained down on him. No! I WILL NOT let that happen! My son WILL NOT fade because of me!
With a war cry, Thranduil slashed at the orc nearest to him. Twirling to avoid a blade to his neck, he stabbed another beast in the belly. His knife blocked the blows as his dagger inflicted death. Within moments, four orcs lay dead.
Thranduil's world shrank to the battle he was engaged in. His thoughts swirled around his next movements, his next enemy. The king did not hear the orc's leader order more orcs into the fray. Nor did he feel the stabbing pain of steel slicing into his abdomen. The elf fought on when another blade pierced his upper chest. Thranduil stubbornly pushed aside the haze invading his vision. Mirkwood's well-being depended on him to stay alive. Legolas depended on it. He could not fall.
But, he did fall. The hilt of a scimitar crashed into the king's skull, causing him to collapse. By now, everything was a spinning darkness. His ears throbbed with the gloating, guttural laughs of the orcs. This was the end, his end. In moments he would be reunited with his love. As a foul blade plunged towards his heart, Thranduil murmured, "Forgive me, ion nin. I have failed you." Then blackness swallowed him.
Author's Note: Well...things don't look so good do they? A huge thank you to all those who reviewed! Reviews are food for my writer's soul! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Also, I'm still in need of a beta. The sooner I can stop tormenting readers with grammar mistakes the better! Thanks again and stay tuned!
Translation:
Naneth-Mother
Yrch- Orc(s)
Elanor- Is an elven flower (Sam named his daughter after it)
Ion nin- My son